


The Big Show

by Rabbit



Category: Field of Dreams (1989)
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Negro League Baseball, Real History Crossover, Sports, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbit/pseuds/Rabbit
Summary: Ray Kinsella's field has given Shoeless Joe and the other Black Sox a second chance. Some, however, never properly got their first. WIP.
Kudos: 3





	The Big Show

It might be Ray's field, but Joe and the other "Black Sox" run the game. They've started to call him the Commish, do the others. Joe's not sure how he feels about that, so long as they don't start calling him Mountain or anything like that. Ty still steams they won't let him out there, specially as he carried half of 'em though end of life. George doesn't even try, but the love of it went out of him, before he died. He fobs off guys who just want a chance to get a piece of him, for their own egos-- that's not what it's about, to him, or shouldn't be. Joe's left keeping the peace- it's not a piece of it he likes much, but nothing worth having was ever free.

Knuckles enjoys saying no, anyway. Likes cracking skulls that can't be cracked with knuckles that won't break. Gives him a weird joy that Joe doesn't like to think about too hard. Gandil used to be the violent one of the bunch, but most of the guys have been a little more jumpy, all told. Sometimes on the field Knuckles and Gandil trade bravas about what they'll do if Shano, or Red, or Eddie Collins or one of them tries to show for play, but it doesn't happen, and Joe isn't so sure he'd fob off say, Dickey Kerr if he wanted to come out. Nothing that happened was Dickey's fault, and it was Comiskey and Landis that ruined their careers in the long run. The guys hadn't helped, that was for sure. But there are plenty of guys they were happy to play with, and plenty more that wanted to.

Most of 'em, Joe knows, or at least knows of, backwards and forwards. Baseball's funny like that. Time doesn't matter so much, but the legend does. Some guys resist it, stick only to the golden ages, the game when they played. The dead-ball guys vs the long-ball guys, measured usually in how a body feels about George. It's not the only divide though, just like they're not the only guys to get sacked for fixing a game-- there's plenty even that didn't get caught. Really, these guys squabble over every little thing, from spitballs and sliders to pinch hitters to in-park home runs and field sizes and ball quality and pitching speed and even a few 19th century holdovers grousing about the existence of running lanes. Somehow, it still surprises him when Boojum Wilson comes to see him.

Boojum shows up one day, right on the edge of the field, and he doesn't… say anything, not right away. He just looks at Joe, (shortest first baseman he's ever seen!), full of fight and patience, in his black uniform and Joe understands.

"Yeah," he says, "yeah, I'll see what I can do. Gotta check with the guys, but…"

"Do you?"

Boojum meets his eyes, eyes that flashed fear in the soul of any umpire they were turned on, and Shoeless Joe shuffles his feet and looks away first.

"Guess I don't. S'just… well, Cap and a lot of them, they're…" It dries up in his mouth. Boojum spits at his feet; just misses, on purpose.

"What did y'all say this was about? Missed chances. Second chances. You got one from us, if you don't remember it Joe. I do. And I heard what you said about it too, up there in Jersey looking like some damn fallen giant…"

"Yeah." Joe remembers, and he doesn't want to say it out loud again but he says it anyway, "it wasn't enough. The barngames, the exhibitions… it just wasn't…"

"The show." Boojum nods, and shakes his head, "all of us felt that way. Maybe we shouldn't have. But playing in the Negro Leagues felt like that. One long sad, sorry series of exhibitions with gear that fell apart and spitballs from three games ago that looking more like charcoal pancakes than balls. Jackie got his chance, sure, and Satchel and Doby and Campanella and them. Eventually. Fleet got burned by Cap-- he wants in too-- but that's not who I'm here for, really."

"Who--"

"You know damn well who." And Joe does, he's not even sure why he asked.

"Whyn't he come himself, though?"

"Cos I played with you, and he never did. Just the once, sure. But that's one more than he got." Boojum grinned, "Also cos my batting average was three points better'n his."

Joe laughed, startled into it, and grinned back, "sure, tell Josh it's okay. I'll talk to the guys and if they don't like it… well heck with 'em." He says that, but he doesn't feel it. Boojum knows this, but it doesn't faze him at all. He's lived with that feeling every day, every night of his life, and most of his death. Joe can have a taste right now and not suffer worse for it.

"You do that," Boojum says, and then he goes-- to tell the guys, Joe figures. And Joe goes too, to do the same thing, differently.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, there's a lot of inside baseball on this one. You can read about the Black Sox here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Sox_Scandal; about Jud "Boojum" Wilson here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jud_Wilson. I am a freakin baseball nerd.


End file.
